Hound of the Mousekerville
by AdiemusLover56
Summary: Ten years after the great Sherlock Holmes took on the hound of the Baskerville, and two years after the Flaversham case, Basil of Baker Street and Dr. Dawson follow a case to the Mousekerville castle, where the late father of Sir Henry Mousekerville has been murdered by a shadow in the night. Where will this lead? Better summary inside. T for violence and character death.
1. The Case

**I have yet to see that this idea has already been done in an actual story. I have seen fanart related to this general idea, and a short story, but not into a great deal of depth.**

**I watched 'The Great Mouse Detective' one day, and, being a huge Sherlock fan (all versions, including BBC), decided to start this. It'll be a mixture of the original story and the BBC's 'Sherlock' episode on the Hound, but will be in the general plot's area. So, as this is my first GMD story, please tell me if I did anything wrong in a review! **

**. . . . . Because, believe it or not, it's actually pretty hard to write a whole story based off of characters that have been in one single movie (that didn't explain them very well…). Yes, I am well aware Basil of Baker Street was based off of a book series, and there have been comics, but I don't have any of the books, and I have read only a few of the comics in my research for Basil's character. **

**This did not help.**

**But I did learn that Basil's last name is Rathbone. No. No I did NOT know that. Did they ever say that in the movie? The name will be said several times through this story, but I feel more comfortable just using 'Basil.' Any tips on characterization? **

**So, forgive me if I use a little bit of imagination on the characters. Nothing belongs to me except for the Mouskervilles, but not really. Even they have pretty much the same names as the original people...anyway, read and review!**

* * *

…_Prologue…_

The mice all laughed at her savagely, the gleam in their eyes equaling the power of the knives in their hands. She could do nothing against the power of Sir Hugo Mousekerville, who held her arms behind her back.

The farm mouse was tall and white, and strong from the work she and her father, her only living relative, had to do to survive on the farmland. But the mouse holding her in front of this crowd was strong as stone, and she was lucky enough to be able to even move around enough to struggle. At the end of the crowd was her poor father, his cries drowned out by vicious laughter.

"Charlie!" Hugo barked out; a small, light brown mouse scrambled up to the front of the crowd of male mice. "Show the girl her room!" He shoved her onto Charlie, and he began to escort her up the flight of marble stairs.

The farmer could stand it no longer, and punched the lizard that was holding him. He ran up through the crowd to Hugo Mousekerville with pleading eyes. "Please suh, I beg of ya! Not my daughta!' She still 'as a whole life aheada' her, and our farm—!"

He towered over the farmer in height, but his face made it seem like he was twice as tall as any mouse. "You should have chosen your friends more wisely, Kinkly." With a slight move of the wrist, several of the mice grabbed poor Kinkly and threw him out the window.

He landed with a large splash into the moat, and everybody including Sir Hugo gazed out the window, laughing at him.

"The old chap knows how to fly yet! And look how he swims, like a drunk fish!"

Drunk he was not. The farmer had made a grave error to cross Sir Hugo, and earn a spot in his hunting league if they could use his land. Walter Kinkly's farm, technically within a human farm, was infested with weasels and other vermin the humans were trying to rid of themselves. It had been a win-win situation (Sir Hugo had paid Kinkly well for the fur and meat of assorted animals they had hunted), until his eye caught the farmer's young daughter.

They all laughed again, and came back inside. Charlie joined them. "She's all cozy, she is," he crooned.

Sir Hugo chuckled. "Her father has just been taught a lesson from trying to stop the Master's sport! Shall we see if he roasts as well as he swims?"

Two mice went out to fetch the beaten farmer, still in the water. "C'mon, then." One said. "Getter up!" They practically carried him back inside.

"Ah, here he is now, Master!" A drunk mouse said.

"Bring him here to the fire, then."

They did, and the "Master" grabbed him by the shirt, holding him over the fireplace.

"Please Masta,' anyun' but my own daughter!"

Hugo squeezed his throat. "You should be lucky the Mousekervilles even _look_ upon that old broom!" He squeezed harder.

* * *

From upstairs, the girl heard screaming . . . laughter . . . cheering. She held back a sob that would most likely find its way to the ears of those—those _fiends _if released_._ Oh, if she were not a lady she would curse out loud!

But she had to escape. Get help, find rescue. Downstairs, though she could not hear well, there were series of loud protesting and a softer, but rougher, voice telling them something.

The very thought of what they would do to her, the look in their cruel eyes as they gazed at her. Oh God, what _he_ would do to her as they all _watched! _Watch, laugh, possibly even _join in_ . . .

Panicked and desperate for escape, she looked around the room they had locked her in—a window. She looked out. There were ivy vines attached to the wall outside. That would do. They were still downstairs, and she could make out their arguments, so she knew she had at least a few seconds. Two minutes tops.

* * *

"So where is the girl now?"

Charlie slurred, "I put her in the Master's quarters, sir. Twas' the closest room to us, an' she put up a bit of a fight, she did!" He hiccupped.

"Quite alright, dear Charles. Quite alright indeed." The room went silent as Sir Hugo stood from his seat at the end of a long table, where the men, in red hunting uniforms, were all sitting and eating and drinking. He clapped his hands together. "Shall we see what sort of prize she is?" He hissed with a grin, earning cheers. "A _girl_, he says! Why, I caught no _girl_ for our game, fellows." His eyes glowed with the hunt ahead.

First, he would let her run a bit. Give her a chance. A minute later (possibly sooner), he and the men and the riding jackrabbits would go after her.

But in the end, she would be his.

He marched upstairs alone with a candelabra, telling the mice to wait for him down here and that he would bring her down. He unlocked the girl's door, and went inside.

No one was there.

He checked beneath the bed, behind all curtains, in the closet, nothing. A knocking noise drew Sir Hugo from his search. The window was open, and thunder threatened rain.

Rain threatened the end of his hunt, loss of her scent.

_Blasted Charlie! There is IVY growing on the—oh?_

A piece of cloth was caught on a vine. He grabbed it, looked outside once more, and returned downstairs. The mice all grew silent when lightning flashed, revealing Mouskerville's vile face, full of hate.

He only said one sentence, holding up the piece of cloth so all could see: "Release the pack."

* * *

The girl stumbled, got up, and fell again. It was rocky terrain, and the lightning flashes were her only source of light on this moonless night. She knew then that this must be Mouskerville's only source of light as well, and therefore the only thing he had against her was the pack of rabbits he had leading the rest of the men right to her.

She stopped to listen to the night. There was so much thunder, her footsteps would not be heard . . . but the pack was getting closer and closer. She could hear them thumping against the ground like horses.

The girl continued running.

And then finally, in the flash of lightning, she saw the shadows of a rock formation. She ran again, hoping to hide somewhere inside, be safe.

* * *

A dog howled in the not-so-distant distance. Sir Hugo watched in madness as the jackrabbits stopped in their tracks, and fled in the opposite direction of the howl despite their master's protests.

_Probably one of Baskerville's own hunting parties. He has those often. The rabbits never flee when they hear the dogs, though. Nevertheless, this will not slow me down!_

"Go back to the castle! I shall meet you there - with _her!"_ He continued riding his own rabbit, Herald (fearless and tough; his favorite) to the old rock formations. They were like castle ruins; if Hugo were so sure they were not, he would think it was one of the Baskerville's old castles. Surely she had run to there for safety, that was the general direction the rabbits had led them to!

But when he got to the formation, the old creature would not move forward.

"Blast it, Herald! What's the matter with you? Move! Forward!"

But it would not budge. He looked up to the rocks again; sunrise was due soon. He saw her shadow moving behind a boulder, and grinned.

Hugo stepped off of the creature, moving on his own account. Herald stayed put, but did not move any further.

* * *

The girl had seen him, yes. But did he see her? Did he know of her presence here? Probably so. She ran to the shadows of rock walls now, hoping to conceal herself until he went away. This led her behind two boulders, that formed an archway of dark shadows, as she heard his footfalls over the terrain. She stayed put, trying not to gasp for breath as her lungs earned for.

She turned, and there was another opening behind that. The mouse slipped through, and saw a branch sticking out directly to her left, against one of the rocks.

She hid behind that as Sir Hugo drew near.

* * *

He was at a clearing. Dangerous, he knew _she_ now knew of his presence here. But, she was trapped and would not dare to move with him being there.

He went over to a crack in a rock first, and looked inside.

* * *

The girl peeked out from behind the branch, no longer hearing his footsteps. The storm had mostly passed over now, no rain having come. But it was very misty, and deadly silent.

She checked both ways slowly, and outstretched her arm to the right of her, hoping to make her way in that general direction.

Hugo grabbed her hand, and she screamed. They fought their way to a large, flat stone that had fallen, but stuck up off of the ground (like a hand bending backwards, it was the hand, and the ground your wrist). He shoved her back onto it, overpowering her, and took out a knife.

Her scream was quickly cut off.

The dog howled again, and Sir Hugo looked up. Again it howled, coming from all around him.

He heard growling directly behind him. Hugo clutched the knife, eyes wide with terror. He slowly shook his head, backing away. This was not one of Baskerville's hunting hounds.

"No…NO!" He screamed as it lunged at him.

The knife fell beside the farm girl.

* * *

_Sherlock Holmes himself had gone to the Baskerville Mansion, but that was before my time with Basil of Baker Street. When they had returned, he and Mrs. Judson overheard Mr. Homes and Dr. Watson talking in private about the case, what they had witnessed. That was in 1889, earlier in Basil's detective years._

_I had not known one sliver of the case, for the mere reason that it had not been brought up. Sure, Basil talked widely about Sherlock's cases, from Irene Addler to James Moriarty, but only when we would overhear the humans talking about the cases, and I would ask._

_Ten years later (and two years after the Flaversham case), we were to follow in the humans' footsteps, all the way up to that dreary castle. Not of the Baskervilles, no, but of the Mouskerville name and castle, out in the desert where no human would ever travel. Unheard of for a mouse, to be able to build our own home instead of taking residence with humans. But, it happened, and we were to go. It all started when a Sir Henry Mouskerville entered our office one late evening, explaining the long line of Mouskervilles before him right after a case we had just finished, at The Rat Trap . . ._

* * *

"And so he poisoned the poor lad's brandy," Basil dipped a finger into the glass, tracing the cup, and put it against the tip of his tongue. "With…ah-ha!" He spit the taste out. "The poisonous plant, Daphne! He extracted the berry's juices into Jim's drink, and the poor mouse suffered indeed."

"But how did you know it was Peter," Dawson asked, "if he left nothing of himself behind?"

"Ah, but he did! He left paw prints on the…here you go!" He revealed the paw prints Peter had left on the bottle of Daphne berries that had been left behind the bar.

Dawson put on his glasses, looking at the prints of Peter and the glass. "Why, it's a perfect match!"

"Officer, arrest this mouse!"

* * *

_We had just gotten home, when Mrs. Judson came running straight to us…_

"He just barged right on in here, Mr. Rathbone, with hardly a word to me! Saying something about a curse and whatnot. He's sitting in your seat right now, Doctor."

The mouse she spoke of stood up from Dawson's seat, across Basil's favorite chair, wringing his hands. "I-I'm desperate, sir."

Basil nodded, taking a seat in his chair by the fireplace. "Mrs. Judson, do I smell some of your infamous cheese crumpets? Do fetch them for us, we have a guest, Mr. . . ?"

"Sir Henry Mouskerville of the estate."

His eyes lit up. "You don't mean—_the_ Mouskerville name? On the," a _special_ gleam appeared in his eyes, "_Baskerville_ estate, of which Sherlock Holmes himself visited?"

Dawson perked up as well. "If I may interrupt, aren't the Mouskervilles the first mice who were able to build their own castle without human detection?"

He nodded. "The very, and I have come for your help! Sherlock Holmes rid the humans of their own problems, but the curse has remained on _my_ family name!"

Henry was a well-built mouse; tall and young with red-clay fur, and read the Mouskerville story to Dawson and Basil with half-moon glasses over his eyes on the table. "—And so the hound of the Mouskervilles, as well as Baskervilles, took form to the hound from Hell, forever to haunt the family names._" _He looked up, finishing the story.

Dawson glanced at Basil, who was smoking a pipe in his chair by the fireplace. He took it out of his mouth, blowing a puff of smoke in the air above him. "A hound, you say? Why bring this all the way to London, Sir Henry? Especially with how the fish and chips on your train ride made you so ill, you should find lodging and rest. I'm sure it's simply one of the Baskerville hounds, you know how much they like to hunt over there. I'm positive Mr. Holmes solved your cases with one stone, and—"

"No, no no!" He shook his head, getting up. "I know for myself that it is the curse! I saw it for myself! But, eh—how-how did you know I had bad fish?"

"I don't know, I notice. There are two fish scales on the cuff of your sleeve, which is an obvious notion that it was hardly well done. I merely assumed it came with chips as that is the only side order that even _comes_ with fish, that's the best trains can do. I knew it was bad because of your green face (and the scales, of course), but that could also be from the event that has brought you here. You also had a rough night, seeing the bags beneath your eyes and how your coat isn't buttoned properly. Your trousers have sand along the bottoms, but the shoes are clean, suggesting you packed and traveled to London in a hurry. Now, back to the case. What did you see?"

Bewildered, he shook his head and began talking. "My-my father…Sir Charles Mouskerville…has been murdered in a most brutal fashion."

A darkness spread through the room like a breeze. Most crimes consisted of theft or kidnapping, and not often was murder brought to Basil. But not never. It was just on a rare occasion that murder passed through the fingers of Inspector Lawless, who was almost jealous of Basil's success as a detective.

"I had been visiting him that week, as I have done once a month since the death of my mother three years ago. We were both taking a walk down-down *Jewer's Hollow. It's an ancient name for the Devil, see? It's on our land, we loved to walk down there so Father could exorcise his bad knee. Rocky terrain, but we've cleared out a path for him. It's through a large boulder field, like mountains and valleys."

Dawson looked around the room, seeing if it was just him who felt the foreboding mood. Mrs. Judson was standing in the doorway, listening with a grave face. Basil was in deep thought, his eyes shut and listening intently. Henry himself had his eyes shut in memory.

"It was late in the night when we were walking, and that was by Father's suggestion. He had wanted to take a walk because, he claimed, that his knee felt better than it had in a long while. So, he wanted to walk with me while the pain was away—because it hurt him to walk normally."

"What happened to his knee?" Basil asked.

"When I was a child, he pulled it while working on moving some rocks over a snake hole that had been eyeing our family. He got his leg caught under one of them, and it hadn't been the same since."

He nodded. "Go on. Even the slightest detail can be of the most importance."

He took a deep breath. "We were walking late at night, as I said, through Jewer's Hollow. My ancestor, Sir Hugo Mousekerville, as his reputation states, was not one to be proud of. His death, and the farm girl he had killed, had taken place at the very clearing we were at, I realized later on.

"The formation was like a series of mountains and valleys, the rocks being mountains, as you could imagine, and Father and I were on a boulder. We heard growling, and something shaking some bushes nearby. Not something shaking _in_ the bushes, but as if it was _supposed_ to make us look that way. But, we looked."

"And?" Basil had his eyes open now, leaning forward in his seat (as were the doctor and Mrs. Judson).

"And my father jumped in front of me as a large shadow lunged at him and attacked. It grabbed his throat," his voice broke. "Oh Lord, it's hand was _gigantic!_ And it's eyes were red! _Red_, Mr. Rathbone, _red!"_

"Please, call me Basil."

"I could scant make out the rest of it's body in the darkness. They both fell off the rock and into the valley," he shifted his weight, "and I, of course, followed them down."

"My word…" Dawson breathed. "What happened?"

"I jumped down from the cliff, but there was nothing there. No sounds, no shadows, nothing."

"Did you check the ground for footprints?" Basil asked.

"Of course."

"And?"

"There wasn't anything. _Nothing!_ But I know he and my father fell off the cliff, I _heard_ their bodies hit the ground, heard my father grunt, but nothing!"

"Did you check everywhere in the area?" Dawson asked.

"Yes, but there were no footprints. Even mistook my own prints for my father's several times. But still, nothing."

Basil sat in silence for a few more seconds, and then got up, pacing. "When did this happen?"

"About a week ago, week and a half. The police were of no help to me, they said, and I quote the inspector, 'no body, no crime.' He had not been gone long enough for them to make a case. I had a flat here in London before going up to visit Father, and remembered seeing you in the papers. I now have to live in the castle to keep it up and running. Please, Mr.-"

"Just Basil," He interrupted.

"My apologies. Please Basil, Doctor. Won't you take the case?"

Mrs. Judson, having slipped out without notice, bustled in at that moment with a platter of cheese crumpets in one hand, and peach tea in the other. "Here we go," she said softly, pouring the tea into cups for each mouse. "Let's all take a breath now, shall we?"

* * *

Thunder growled in the distance, threatening heavy rain. The Mouskerville castle was on the edge of the Baskerville estate, where no human dared roam. Built from cut stone and marble, it resembled a large human dollhouse (except, of course, it was much bigger). Raised around five and a half feet in the air, it was the largest—and only—mouse-made castle that had not been discovered by humans. It had been built in the late 1700s to early 1800s, and now served as a mouse-tourist-attraction-hotel.

The grand hall took up a great deal of the castle, which would have been the first room you would enter upon arrival. It served as both dining hall and a quiet room where tourists could eat and do whatever in peace. Then followed by the kitchen in the left room of that, and a ballroom straight ahead. The library was on the second floor. And then there would be the circling staircase that went to the very top floor (the attic). The rest of the floors were either guest rooms or offices.

Henry explained this to the detectives, and a bit more of the staff members that were there now.

Basil and Dawson had taken the case.

* * *

***- I had been watching the BBC's Sherlock episode "The Hounds of Baskerville," and this was from Henry's description of where he and his father were when they were attacked. As I have said, I will be combining the two plots, and intertwine a bit of my own story into here.**


	2. Mouskerville Estate

_On the train ride to Devonshire, where the estate was, Basil and I discussed our case. We both agreed that by our arrival and announcing we were detectives, the true culprit would most likely take into hiding or leave. However, Henry assured us nobody out there knew our names. Newspapers did not reach the gates due to the desert, the guests were all foreigners, and the staff members did not leave the castle often. If they did, it was for family or a holiday._

_Even so, Basil had suggested disguises just in case. Henry declined that we do, as our ruse might be discovered. It was apparent neither mouse would agree, so I pointed out to Basil that his pictures in the newspaper were with his coat and deerstalker hat, and I rarely let any reporter take my own picture (for publicity could be a dangerous thing—I preferred my regular patients instead of, say, assassins coming into my work). So, we packed clothing that we would not be recognized in (I wore the same outfit that I had first met Basil in when Olivia Flaversham and I arrived at his front door). _

_We each packed middle class dress clothes as to not draw attention, and each brought our own weapon…just in case._

* * *

"My word," the good doctor said, "It's a wonder no human has ever discovered this place."

They were currently sitting around the fireplace at the end of the grand hall, its flames flickering shadows across the walls of the large room. Currently, there were three sets of guests (a polite term, to Basil, for "suspects") staying in the manor:

The staff that took care of all guests, and up until his death a week and a half earlier, Charles Mousekerville had hired. There were three maids (two were cousins of Henry's, the twins Violet and Viola), and Miss Miserere. Two butlers, one that had helped Charles with his bad leg (Henry's Uncle Berry), and another for helping guests (Thomas). And then there were two cooks, Mr. and Mrs. Harning.

Mr. and Mrs. Eves were two of the tourists, Henry said, and had traveled all the way from America to spend three months traveling around England. They were on their second night out of four of staying in the Mousekerville castle, newlyweds on their honeymoon. They were planning on traveling to London after another stop out of Devonshire, where the case had led the detectives. Although they were still considered to be suspects, they also had solid alibis.

The third set of guests were a *French widow and her only child, a twenty-month-old girl. Sir Henry had let them stay for free, as the widow, Miss Tholomar, could not be hired due to her motherhood. Besides, the child and she had no home, and no friends to take care of the young girl whilst she was at work. Until, of course, Sir Charles found her wandering the streets of London while she was pregnant with her daughter, *Colette. Two years later, Henry had lived up to the name of his father's generosity with them. They had been there for the Mousekervilles after the death of Henry's mother, and Colette had literally grown up within the castle walls.

Basil hardly suspected these two either, though he had yet to talk to any of the guests. He and Dawson were still gathering information from Henry on the castle's estate. He had drawn out a map of the Baskerville grounds, and had drawn the Mousekerville Castle and Jewer's Hollow.

"—The Baskerville Castle itself is the middle of, to sum it all up, a circle." He pointed to said castle, in the middle of a circle of desert land. "The very middle of the map, and the middle of the grounds. Still, we are in Devonshire."

It bordered the Yeoman's land to the east, which held a mouse farmland and human town. In the west was desert land, though Jewer's Hollow, where the beast had been sighted, was slightly southwest of the great mansion, almost directly south of the Mousekerville castle. It bordered an oasis leading off of the land. The Baskerville manor had a three mile perimeter (human miles) from each point of the castle, where the land ended.

Henry explained this all. When he was done, Dawson asked, "The farmland bordering these grounds—you mentioned in the curse, did you not, that the girl your ancestor killed…."

He nodded solemnly. "Her first name was lost to history, but the family name, Kinkly, has not been changed. In his years, Sir Hugo Mousekerville, my ancestor, had taken a liking to hunting the weasels on Kinkly's farm for their fur and meat (quite ironic, is it not?). After he murdered the girl _and_ her father, the Mousekervilles and Kinklys have been quite strict about the perimeters of our lands. We are not to enter theirs unless traveling through, and they are not to enter ours unless doing the same. Even up to this day, though my father and the current farmer were acquaintances, the treaty of sorts still holds."

"So the Kinklys," Basil said, taking out his pipe, "hold a grudge against your family name?"

"Not to the point of murder, dear Heavens no!" He exclaimed. "We are nearly six human miles apart, keep in mind, from the east end of Baskervilles to the west. With the exception of Sir Hugo, we have not bothered the Kinkly family for centuries."

He raised his head, and blew a puff of smoke into the air. "Don't jump to conclusions, Mousekerville. Sometimes men can put on masks for years without revealing their true faces."

Silence rung in the air until a door opened on the other side of the room, and a woman laughed. "Colette, be careful!" Miss Tholomar spoke with a heavy French accent.

"Yes Mama!"

Dawson smiled warmly at the sound of the young girl's high-pitched voice, and almost chuckled at the uncomfortable look on Basil's face as he put down his pipe; both stood up. They had not been involved with children on cases as Olivia Flaversham had been. Sure, they had been involved with families before, but none of the children had been as exposed to the dangers of madmen that had _exceeded_ Ratigan's schemes. There had been two exceptions: The first had almost ended in tragedy. A small boy had been kidnapped, and both of his parents had come to the detectives for help.

They were being blackmailed over an unpaid gambling debt the father had lost. Each letter, one before they got to Basil and two after, had been signed with a single drop of the child's blood. It had only been a pin prick each time as they found out, but the mice who took the boy were more than willing to do more after the third letter, as they had threatened. Basil busted down the door just as a butcher knife was about to take away the boy's left hand, too close a call for comfort.

The second, which was a year ago, left a husband without his wife and his son with a terrible stutter—the few times he ever talked. The boy had not only witnessed the death of his mother, the only reason why he had been left was because the murderer thought he was dead after knocking the lad into a wall.

The murderer was the woman's scorned childhood sweetheart looking for her husband's fortune. He knocked the boy against the wall, and turned back to her with a knife. It was an "accident" when she attacked him out of fury and he swiped the knife clean through her neck, "on instinct."

The boy played smart and held still, keeping his eyes down to slits. It took everything to get him to tell the police who the culprit was, and why. He was still receiving therapeutic help, the last they heard.

Both Basil and Dawson now took extra precaution with any children in a case.

Henry got up and took a few steps forward, planning to greet them. He had already put on a polite smile, but it grew wider when he saw the younger mouse. "She's walking?!"

The woman wore a pale grey dress down to her knees that had been torn and dirtied to the two detective's utter shock, and smiled warmly and nodded as the mouse made her way across the room. "She took her first steps as we were climbing over some rocks a day after you left for London."

Colette ran right up to Henry's knees, wearing a small, dark brown dress to bring out the lighter brown shade of her fur. "I got up there first!" She beamed.

He chuckled, taking the child into his arms. She had a tuft of fur on her head that was the color of dust.

Miss Tholomar approached them. Her brown hair was stringy, and her dusty fur was scuffed. She wore a pair of boots. "And she stood, and waved an arm at me. The happiest moment of my life."

Basil cleared his throat, paws behind his back. Colette had been staring at him with a quizzical look on her face, and grinned at him.

"Ah! Forgive me!" Henry exclaimed. "Miss Isabella and Colette Tholomar, these are my dear friends, Basil of Baker Street and his associate, Dr. David Q. Dawson. Basil, Doctor, this is Isabella and—"

"Colette!" The girl exclaimed happily, thrusting out her arms out and grinning.

"Colette," her mother warned, "what have I told you about interrupting?" She looked at the two detectives and smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet any friends of Henry's. I would curtsy if I could!" She motioned to her dress that had been torn at the ends.

Dawson took off his hat, bowing formally. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"No need, Madame Tholomar." Basil took her hand and kissed it. He whispered, +"_Vous avez toute ma sympathie pour les difficultes qui vous ont __coute__ et vous fille." _

She blinked, and squeezed his hand in hers. "_Vous etes gentil. Kinder que son pere etait._" She nodded towards Colette. "_Mais la sympathie ne prendra rien en retour._" She took her hand of his, looking at the floor, and back up at him slowly. "But, _merci_."

He nodded, hands once again behind his back. There were certain women in the world that he did not trust—Irene Raddler being the main reason—but there were the rare cases of Madam Tholomar and her child that he had a higher respect for than most of his clients.

"But, speaking of my dress, I really should change."

"Wasn't it brand-spanking-new last week?" Henry chuckled, putting Colette down.

She smiled back jokingly, showing a bit of teeth. "We were down in Jewer's Hollow a couple of days ago while you were away picking up the new guests," She winked at Dawson. "Got lost in a wicked fog, but backtracked our steps when it cleared out some. She was walking by then, and we both tripped some on our way."

"All better!" Colette exclaimed, holding her hands up to the fireplace. She caught Basil's eyes again, stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth and scrunched up her face in concentration. She pointed to him, "Basil…of Bakah' Street." He smiled as her gaze turned to the doctor, "Doctah' Dawson . . ." Next Henry, "Hen…Henry…and Mama!" She smiled broadly when she was done, and turned back to the fire.

"_Mon aime_, if you are cold, we can go change in our room." She held out her hand, kneeling down. "But very good!" Madam Tholomar smiled at the detectives, "She doesn't remember names so quickly! I guess she likes you two."

"Oui, Mama." Colette was taken into her mother's arms.

Still kneeling, Miss Tholomar said, "It was a pleasure meeting the both of you, I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Goodbye!" Colette waved with her free hand.

Chuckling, Dawson said, "It was a pleasure."

Basil merely nodded, having said all the words he had to say.

After they left, the men had sat back down. It was barely five o'clock, and the cooks were in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"I don't mean to be imprudent," Dawson said, "but her dress—if she tore it a couple of days ago…"

He shrugged. "She doesn't feel comfortable in corsets. Or…well sir, she's quite a character."

"Indeed." Basil sat back down, deep in thought. He perked back up when Henry started describing said woman.

"She says she doesn't feel comfortable in anything that won't let her run, or move around. Something you'll need to know about her, sir, is that she was involved with some bad people her husband introduced her to. She had been born with con-artists as parents and raised on the streets. Tough as a bull and _unashamedly_ acts unladylike when Colette isn't around, but she's a good woman at heart. But, that's all you blokes'll need to know about her to stay on her good side. Respect is the word I'm looking for."

"I can imagine the temper she might have," Basil nodded, chuckling.

"Is there anything else you would like to know about the castle?"

"Yes. Is there any way we could go up to Jewer's Hollow?" He asked abruptly, "Later tonight, if possible?"

"To-tonight?!"

"You heard me. First I would like to meet some of your staff, however, without drawing suspicion. And the young couple from America, but one of the staff members would be more likely to be our culprit behind this."

"One of the—now see here!" Henry frowned, "How could a mouse leave no tracks? My father was well built despite his leg, and he was tackled off of a cliff!"

"But it was night when he was taken," Dawson pointed out, "and perhaps the darkness played some sort of—"

He stood up and shouted, "It was a full moon that night!"

"Please sit down and lower your voice, sound carries easily in this place," Basil said indifferently.

He did so, but still sat at the edge of his seat, glaring at Dawson. "It was clear as day, we could still see perfectly well! I am _not_ insane!"

"Now, I never said that! Wouldn't it make sense that you might have suffered a trauma while seeing your—

"No! Yes . . . possibly, I don't know." He sighed, running his paws over his head fur. "I'm . . ."

"Confused and traumatized." Basil finished. "And _that_ is why we are going to Jewer's Hollow tonight. I would advise you not to let anyone else outside tonight."

* * *

_As unfortunate as it was, Basil's choice to go up at night proved quite costly to us later on. As requested, Henry told everyone that his father's murderer was still at large, and that they should not go out past sundown, which was at eight (it being the middle of June)._

_When dinner was over and done with, Basil and I met with the American couple. Madam Tholomar and Colette went for another walk around to tire out the young girl before bedtime—both Basil and I did not yet know who, or what, was out there, and were too distracted with the couple to realize what kind of danger they were in. We only let them go because it was nowhere near sundown, and that is a mistake we both blame ourselves dearly for. But at the same time, it was not entirely our fault. It took Basil some time to converse with the Eves couple, and to slip away without suspicion by the time we were supposed to meet Henry down at Jewer's Hollow._

_But I feel that our conversation must be recorded, so Basil and I can put our minds to rest once we relive it. I have asked for his assistance in recording it, as I was…occupied at the time._

_We were seated back around the fireplace. Basil was doing most of the talking to the newlyweds in trying to learn more about them, I was not exactly one to, I'll say, _discreetly_ get information out of people such as these . . ._

* * *

The first thing Basil had noticed about the couple were their attires: Mrs. Eves was wearing a thick purple fur scarf over a baby blue dress and matching high heeled shoes, her husband a formal grey suit and tie—first class American citizens, both albino mice.

The biggest fear the detective had was gone—**Titus and Missy Eves were too giddy and obviously in the "honeymoon-stage" of their relationship to _stop_ talking about themselves.

It was the Mrs. that mostly droned on about their wedding:

"Oh, my mother helped me pick out the most _beautiful_ wedding dress, it fit like a glove! It had black lace, can you see it, _black lace_ over the white dress' cuffs and bottom skirts! And the _wedding_," she clapped her hands together, startling both her husband and Dawson and made Basil jump in his seat, "was simply _lavish_, wasn't it darling?"

"Eh, ye-yes dear."

What places they were traveling to:

"Well," she took her snoring husband's hand in hers, "we decided on the European tour after Titus' mother told us about _their_ honeymoon spent in Paris. Now, originally I had wanted to spend our own honeymoon in France, and Titus in London, but after hearing his mother we just decided . . . on them _all!_" She clapped her hands together again, and everybody jumped up with mutters she talked over.

Their entire family histories:

"—And my mother was born in Spain, so I'm Spanish, Irish, Greek, Canadian, _and_ American! And Titus is just Greek, Canadian, American, and Irish!" She laughed, a high-pitched sound, blonde curls shaking against snow white fur.

Basil looked around. One of the maids was looking at him with sympathy, dusting across the room. She nodded to him, and he to her.

And other random bits of trivia that had nothing to do with _anything_ at all, much less the case:

"The weather here has been so dry lately, I wonder why, because in the part of Florida we live at storms were dampening our moods. Why, the wedding had to be put indoors due to rain! Oh, even the first cake we had ordered got trampled up what with all of those humans, but it turns out they had the wrong order anyway! Isn't that a laugh?" Another high pitched giggle that kept Basil from slipping into unconsciousness, "We ended up getting _our_ order in the end, just as the priest said the final words. A happy ending for us all, although I really don't know what happened to the couple who ordered their cake in the first place. Now, Mr. Basil, what were you saying?"

Basil, almost dozing himself, looked up. His head was propped up by a hand supported by an elbow against the armchair. "I'm sorry, ma'am?"

"I said, what were you saying before the conversation Titus and I had so rudely drawn you into?"

He blinked. "Hello, I am Basil of Baker Street?"

"Yes, that's the one! And who is your friend?"

He groggily turned to said mouse, fast asleep and snoring softly in the armchair. He jabbed a thumb in his general direction, fully aware that two and a half hours had passed since greeting the couple. They had to meet with Henry in a few minutes, already! "This is my associate, Dr. David Q. Dawson."

"Oh, it was _splendid_ meeting you two! But, I'm afraid, my husband and your friend seem to be rather tired tonight…" Her smile went down. "You know, Titus _always_ seems tired when we're talking with friends. He must be shy!"

"It must be the excitement of the travel that has tired Dawson so. We should really be off to our rooms now, actually." He checked his pocket watch, and hastily got up to shake Dawson's shoulder as Mrs. Eves elbowed her husband. "Dawson, it's half past eight!"

He was startled for a second, but nodded slowly, yawning and stretching.

"Titus, darling?"

Her husband jumped and said, "Y-yes dear."

"Let's retreat back to our quarters for the night, hm?"

"Mmm," He took her hand and followed her to the staircase. "Yes dear."

They left, and the two mice went outside to meet with Henry on the trail.

After a few moments of silence Dawson asked, "Were you able to get anything out of her?"

With a sideways look at each other, they broke out laughing.

* * *

_A minute later, Henry found us holding our sides. He was nice enough to stand against a tree with his arms crossed as we regained ourselves . . . Slowly._

"You're late . . . So you've spoken to Missy Eves, I presume. Did you get anything out of her besides the wedding and entire family histories?"

"Don't forget honeymoon," Dawson said.

"And weather."

"And how tired Mr. Eves is all the time," Basil and Henry said in unison, "Why, he must be shy!"

"Absolutely nothing outside of that, I'm afraid," Basil admitted. "I was almost afraid to ask and set her off for another two and a half hours, pardon my behavior, but honestly!"

"Secretive she is not," Mousekerville agreed. "I suppose they are no longer suspects?"

"If they are the culprits, they do an excellent job of hiding—" His ears twitched, and smile disappeared. "Do you hear—?"

All three ran deeper into the path leading to Jewer's Hollow, following the sound of Colette's wailing. Basil had been the first to spot her blending in with some dead weeds.

He approached her cautiously. "Colette?"

She sniffled, watching him with wide eyes. The poor girl was holding her dress in her hand—that, all three noticed, was drenched in blood.

"Where's your mother?"

"Mama—_au revoir_." She stared only ahead, not into anybody's eyes. She pointed straight ahead, which was on the rock field. "Mama—gone."

"Come out then, girl." Henry took off his own coat and handed it to Basil, as he was closest to her. "Cover yourself, my goodness!"

She crawled out and was wrapped in Henry's coat after a check-up by the doctor. He shook his head. "She has no marks or scratches. It must be her mother's." He frowned, looking at the dress in Basil's hands. "What do you suppose happened?"

"Madam Tholomar protected her child with her life," he spread it out, revealing blood drenching the right side. "She knew her daughter blended in with the desert, I could barely see her myself. She took off Colette's dress, and made her hide while she fought."

He looked at where Colette pointed, off of a 'cliff.' "Henry, is this where your father disappeared?"

"Murdered, sir. Yes."

"Why say _murder_, Henry?" He handed the dress to Dawson. "How do you _know_ he was murdered?"

He nodded to the cliff. "Look down."

* * *

_And to speak of horrors, to relive what Basil and I saw next—it nearly broke my own heart. We only meant to look over the edge to see how steep it really was—I did not see the expression on my friend's face, but I'm sure he too was shocked when we gazed upon the body of Madam Tholomar._

* * *

They gasped, and Henry backed away with Colette, who was yelling happily, "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

"Hush now, child." They turned away from the sight.

Dawson and Basil ran down a trail to the valley.

From above, it was about a three-foot drop. And Madam Tholomar had not only been pushed off of it—which was enough to break an arm or leg for a mouse—she had been attacked brutally. Her fur was torn in patches, and her sides were bloodied. Stabbed.

Dawson checked her pulse with one hand, and held the other up to her nose. Sighing in relief, he turned to the detective. "She's alive and breathing, but just barely. She needs a hospital, quickly!"

Just as he said that, Madam Tholomar coughed, and spit out a tooth and blood. She groaned, hands squeezing her sides.

* * *

***- No, I will not try to claim these two as my own. They were inspired by Les Miserables' Fantine and Cosette, obviously. Because Fantine did not have a last name, I used her ex-lover's (Felix Tholo-something). For Isabella Tholomar, I mixed both Eponine and Fantine to add onto her character.**

****- Titus Eves? Eve Titus? Get it? ;)**

**+- "You have my sympathies for any troubles that have cost you and your daughter."**

"**You are kind. Kinder than her father. But sympathy will not take anything back."**

**Merci—thank you.**


End file.
